RIP Father Jack
It has been a while since I last blogged about any Tesco atrocities. It hasn’t been lack of mess ups on their part which has seen be stop. I am just fed up of the entire thing. Fed up of the endless complaints over the phone, through email and Twitter. I wrote a formal complaint last month, following the delivery driver going AWOL with all our frozen shopping. I received a grovelling apology and voucher. The gesture was appreciated, and in my opinion, deserved. However, the problems continued.
Apparently our local store, in Brislington, have an employee specially in place to oversee shops of VIP customers, to ensure everything is correct and in a fit state to be sent out to their homes. Due to the our complaints, I was told that we were one of these VIPs. Based on recent deliveries, either this new employee has left their post, they’re useless at their job or we are not a VIP anymore. Today’s latest piece of genius from Tesco was delivering an out of date quiche. I suppose it’s a good thing my wife, Claire, checked the date and we didn’t start eating it, or we could have become unwell. Who the fudge picks an out of date product off the shelves to give to a customer? The other mistake made me laugh. Claire, a vegetarian, ordered a VEGETARIAN ready meal. The VEGETARIAN meal was unavailable. It was substituted. Guess what for? A LAMB curry. If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. What kind of people are Tesco employing? I know mistakes happen, but things are going wrong almost every week!
We recently tried Ocado, because there was an appealing voucher for new customers to receive money off their first shop. In the past, we had avoided Ocado, due to the belief that they would be too expensive, because of their association with Waitrose. I did not find the shop from Ocado to be overpriced. In fact, following the first shop from Ocado, we returned. We were gifted a selection of frozen food, worth £20, for free. The food we ordered was of a high quality, with the delivery driver coming across as warm, helpful and friendly.
After talking to an equally frustrated wife this morning, we have decided to avoid Tesco deliveries for now and continue with Ocado. We may even take a dabble with Asda and Morrisons. I told Tesco exactly what I thought of them, on Twitter. It didn’t bring back our quiche, but it made me feel better, knowing that a thousand-odd followers will see how rubbish Tesco are.
Wow. There’s suddenly lots of local activity! A human foot has been found in a field, very close to where I live and work. A man has been wandering around a busy main road, dressed in just a pair of orange underwear; and Bristol Rovers look to have been taken over by some rich dudes, who will probably bring Champions League football to The Mem in just a few of years.
Yesterday morning came the time of the month where my contact lenses needed to be changed. I have performed this ritual every four weeks, or so, for the last 15 years. This time, however, I did something differently. I threw away the old lenses, as normal, but instead of opening a new packet of fresh contacts, I picked up my glasses, which I normally wear while I am at home, and left them on for the rest of the day. I later phoned Specsavers and cancelled the contact lens subscription.
I used to struggle with glasses, which is why I decided to wear contact lenses. I didn’t like the feel of a foreign object resting on my nose. Since then, I have almost always worn my glasses while at home and I have got used to the pieces of metal and magnifying glass stuck to my face.
In the last year, I have had difficulties with my contact lenses – most recently (and notably!) the Q-Tip incident. I am therefore going to see how I get on with just glasses. If I struggle to exist with them and the sensation of them on my head is more than I can tolerate, I’ll go back to contact lenses. In the meantime, I’ll try out this four-eye look.
Oh, how things change. I remember one of my New Year’s Resolutions. I would blog every day. When was the last time I did that? Almost a month ago! A bloody month. It wasn’t for lack of blogworthy material, either…
A few Sundays ago, I experienced one of my worst horrors. Claire was on a day shift, so had left for work hours before I awoke from my slumber. As I crawled out of my pit, I noticed something on the end of the bed. It was a spider. A huge, black spider with big, hairy legs. It lay motionless; presumably, like me, enjoying a Sunday morning lie-in.
For what seemed like hours, but was probably mere seconds, I stared at the creature in absolute disbelief. When my brain woke up and I realised I wasn’t dreaming, and there was, in fact, a gert-maccy spider on the end of the bed, I got out of bed quicker than I ever have before, reaching for the spider spray I always keep close to the bed.
In the past, people have laughed at me for keeping bug repellent in the bedroom. I was accused of being paranoid. My over-cautious approach, which I had followed for over a decade, had finally paid off. I held the can of Raid in my hand and with one firm press of my index finger, unleashed chemical warfare on the spider.
The jets of poison from the aerosol, were more than enough to awaken the creature. It spread its long legs, like a lifeform from another planet, before running all over the duvet. It was horrible. I think the spider must have been half-asleep, as it appeared slower than the ones that sprint across the living room carpet, while you’re watching Coronation Street. It appeared almost intoxicated. Despite its slower, uncoordinated pace, the sight of the monster invading the very place where I rest disturbed me greatly.
The message on the aerosol promised to kill bugs in seconds. This was clearly a lie; as the spider, now becoming more awake and dangerous, looked to be flourishing, as opposed to lying on its back with its legs in the air. If the poison wasn’t going to kill the spider, maybe the metal can which contained it would be enough to end its reign of terror. Holding the top of the can, in a tight, clenched fist, and using all my strength, I smashed the makeshift weapon onto the spider. Instead of resulting in a a mess of broken, twisted legs and spider guts, the can broke apart in my hand. I was left with the plastic rim of the canister, while the metal aerosil was flung across the bedroom.
The spider remained on the bed. At this point, it was mocking me. If it was large enough for me to be able see its mouth, I would no doubt see laughter on its face. In a mad fit of rage, I picked up the aerosol can hit the spider with it. I hit it hard and accurately. The creature which had scared me so much seconds earlier lay motionless on the bed. I hit it again… and again. I had to ensure that I had fully completed ‘the job’. The spider was dead.
I was still fearful of the creature, even in its death. Although frozen and crippled, the thought that it would suddenly spring back into life and start running around again, would not leave my head. I left the bedroom and was able to find a glass, which I placed over the body. Taking care to ensure the dead spider did not fall off the bed or worse, onto my hand, I transferred the small, but scary, carcass from the duvet, into the bottom of the glass. The spider stayed in the glass for most of the day. I don’t know why I kept it. Possibly to assure myself that it really was dead. Later that night I disposed of the body. I considered many methods on how to get rid of it, and eventually came to the decision the safest, from my point of view, and most respectful, for the spider, was to flush it down the toilet.
On this website, you’ll find me blogging (almost) daily about everyday life, living in Bath, working with computers, and the occasional bit of football stuff thrown in.
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